The Fall Of Snow: Guard Your Heart

20. Twenty

Twenty

No Rest for the Wicked

I sit in the closet for what seems like days as I wait for the fight to end. Fire continues to burn as the night goes on and the sounds of battle have become too familiar as time passes. My head is pounding from the stress of the night. Toy soldiers have set up camp in my skull, hammering away. Or maybe my nerves are just shot. I try to stop my thoughts from creating scenarios where each friend I have made in this cabin is left bloodied and lifeless in the camp somewhere. Or that when I finally emerge from this place, the entire world will be aflame.

Long after the sun has risen, I finally hear the familiar sound of boots walking up the steps to the cabin. My entire body seizes as I wait for the door to open, wait for the sound of voices that I know .

When the front door creaks and the sound of Whip's sneeze fills the room followed by Huck's grunt, my shoulders relax. Before anyone can reach the closet, I grab the handle and fling the door wide open, barreling out into the sunlit cabin. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust, but once they do, I wish they hadn't. The first thing I see is Huck's beautiful face covered in red and black. Blood and dirt mix like watercolors. It's hard to tell if it's his or not, but at least he's standing. At least he's breathing. My chest swells with the knowledge he's alive.

The more I learn of Huck, the less I hate him. The more I hate myself for being so weak. What future would I have with an Arion Warrior when I'm on the run for my life? If I let someone as potent as Huck in, I would never recover.

The next thing I notice is that the room is too empty. Even with the corpses lying on the floor, some are missing. Each warrior has a presence that I have come to sense while in the cabin, and the balance is off. Something isn't adding up. I look around at the warriors’ faces and see the problem. Coy and Archer aren’t here.

My stomach drops to the bloodied floor, and my eyes follow. Huck limps toward me in a rush, stepping over the stiffened body at my feet, and he seizes my shoulders, searching my face. My lip begins to tremble as tears well up in an instant.

"They're not dead." Huck reads me easily enough, recognizing what the tears mean. I try to nod, but my body has already started the process of crumbling in on itself. My legs begin to tremble and my knees give out, hitting the floor in a hollow thud. The others rush over in concern.

"They' re in the infirmary with the rest," Whip explains. "There were . . . casualties, but none from our cabin." Her face tightens with the words and I know they must all be under a tremendous amount of stress. Just because no one from our cabin died, doesn't mean they don't feel the loss of a comrade. It doesn't make the grief sting any less.

"Listen, we need to go. There are a lot of things to be done. We just wanted to inform you that the battle is over." Huck stands, leaning onto his good leg and his eyes become distant. Whip helps me to a chair as if I've just been through battle. The warriors move about the room in a hurry, changing clothes, hanging up their bows, and dragging the cold bodies of the fallen soldiers out the back door. I avert my eyes as their stiff limbs drag across the floor, leaving a trail of dark red behind.

The warriors rush to the door after reminding me to stay unseen until they return tonight.

"Wait!" My voice comes out louder than I anticipated. "Don't you all need rest? You've been battling through the night."

The warriors barely pause at my question, but Terran at least gives me an answer before running out the door.

"Ain't no rest for the wicked, Snowflake." He winks before shutting the door behind him, leaving me alone once again. Leave it to Terran to still find light on such a dark day. I look around the empty cabin and decide to get cleaning. The last thing I want is for the warriors to come home and see more blood after the night they had, and the day to follow. I don't want them to see anything reminding them of the ambush when they come back.

As I scrub the stained blood and char from the floorboards, I think of Coy and Archer—of what could have happened to them. I don't even know if they are conscious. If they still have all of their limbs intact. I didn't even get a chance to ask how severely they were injured, or if they'll pull through. They're not dead doesn't mean they won't be soon. Panic coils in my gut, and I shake the thoughts away before they make a home inside my chest.

Instead, my mind drifts off to Huck, and his demeanor before he left the cabin. It was like a switch was flipped after he saw I was in one piece, like the moment at the bonfire never happened at all. Maybe he's just stressed about Coy, about the ambush and the battle. Or maybe he realized that kissing me was a mistake. Or maybe the rum just got the best of him and that is that.

But that last thought doesn't ring true to me. Something about the way he looked at me wasn't hazed over by rum. His intentions were crystal clear, his movements sure when his fingers roamed my body.

Although the group said they wouldn't be back until well after dinner, I decide to make them something sweet to end their brutal day on a high note. I can't even begin to imagine what kind of things they are doing today. Repairing cabins, tending to the injured, and disposing of bodies. If I can't help with any of the recovery, then the least I can do is something that won't risk being discovered in this warrior camp.

I'm coating apple slices in cinnamon when an idea strikes my mind. I can help the injured with fuzion! Just as I've been helping Aspen, I can add elements to the apples to aid in recovery. My mind begins to churn.

Pain reliever.

Something to help with blood loss.

Magic to kill infection.

I will make a recovery cocktail and blend it into a cider that the warriors can bring to the infirmary. My body buzzes with the sweet feeling of a new idea as I pull the basket of apples onto the table, abandoning the dessert entirely. Most of these magics are fairly easy to bond with an apple, and now that I've broken the dam on my power, I just need to focus on the outcome. With each fuzion I've done for Aspen since the day I released that trickle of magic in the woods, it has been coming more and more easily to me. My power flows more smoothly with each use, like rushing water chipping away at the stone wall blocking all flow.

My body sings with elation at my newfound purpose. I will simply dedicate one type of magic to one apple at a time and blend the fruits together later in the pot.

Not seeing the inside of the infirmary, I can only guess at what kind of ailments the warriors have and what kind of aid they need. So I stick to the basics of what I think will help them the most. If someone needs something more specific or needs a stronger kind of magic, I can figure it out later when Huck and the others come home. Maybe they can bring me a report of everyone's injuries and I can develop a personalized cider for each individual warrior.

Regardless of how this all plays out, I cannot just sit around hiding from the world while people are suffering a few meters away from me.

Immediately I get to work, remembering all of the lessons my mother taught me before turning her back on me, like uncovering old texts from long ago, heavy with dust and cracked spines. I dive deep into my memories for everything on ailments.

Just yesterday, I was out in the forest surrounded by blankets of snow, practicing my magic again, working on a cure for Aspen. Despite not finding it, I recall how the magic flowed more smoothly with concentration, intention, and patience. I've learned that the more I use my power, the more easily I can access it—the stronger it becomes.

My power pulses through my veins, awakening from within and I know without looking that my eyes have taken on a metallic glow. I just pray I don't do more damage than good with this idea, and that the apples blend together seamlessly in my makeshift cocktail. I don't want any adverse reactions when combined.

My mother used to blend different magics together all of the time at the shop, but never these specific ones. She never had a market for combining such elements. But to be sure, I will ingest it myself before sending it to the infirmary.

When I release my magic, it rushes out in a torrent from my heightened excitement and that feeling of euphoria comes over me as it channels through. A welcome change from the tightness of fear. I conjure up the exact intention of what I want to create, seeing it in my mind's eye, molding it into something almost tangible before fuzing it with the apple. If someone makes the connection between the healing effects of the warriors and the cider, I don't think anyone will be wasting too much time looking into it. They have a bigger issue at hand: what follows the unexpected ambush.

When I fill the pot to the brim with apples, water, and spices, I let it stand over the fire, simmering. When I turn to clean up the kitchen, my head swims as black stars dance in my vision. I stumble towards the couch before falling into it.

I think I underestimated the amount of fuzing I did today. It’s been years since I’ve used my magic to such an extent and now it’s taking its toll.

The sun finally sets after what feels like the longest day in history despite the season and my limbs feel like they're filled with lead. My head thrums with a dull ache as my mind runs through the night's events over and over again.

And every time, my thoughts drift to Huck. I try desperately to shut it down, but I've never had much control over my mind and the lingering thoughts of his mouth on me keep coming back to the forefront. The way he looked at me through the flames of the fire, the way he caressed my neck with hunger in his eyes. And then the way he recoiled from me this morning before heading out into the camp again.

I vaguely wonder what this ambush might mean for our land, what it might mean for me. Will they tighten up the borders, making it more difficult for me to leave come spring? Will an all-out war begin soon? Will Coy and the others make it out of the infirmary?

Will something else kill me before I even have a chance to know?

Before long I’m being shaken awake by large hands engulfing my shoulders. Amber eyes fill my blurred vision.

“Snow! Snow! Are you alright?” Huck’s voice fills my head and I realize I must have fallen asleep.

“You look terrible.” Aspen runs over toward me, looking worse for wear.

My eyes adjust and I sit up to find the warriors file into the space. All six of them. SIX. Archer is here! I rise from my seat on weakened legs and throw my arms around the wisdom of the group, feeling so very grateful that we didn't lose him.

"You're okay," I mumble into his chest. I feel his arm curl around my back, feather-light as he chuckles atop my head.

"I'm okay." I feel his words in his chest. “What happened to you?” He grabs my shoulders and looks at me.

“Oh, it’s nothing. I think I just overexerted myself a bit.” I shrug, hoping the burnout doesn’t show on my face.

“I’ll say. You look like you’ve been hit by a horse.” Bear’s words have me covering my face with my hands, and rubbing my eyes.

“Snow, I know you are happy about progressing with your magic but you need to know your limits.” Huck pulls me back towards the couch, forcing me to sit back down.

"Something smells good in here." Terran chucks off his boots and waltzes into the cabin .

"I wish I could smell it." Whip sniffs the air, but the stuffy nose doesn't allow for much sniffing. I laugh as bubbles of delirium erupt in my chest at how happy I am to see the warriors in one piece. But it doesn't take long for me to remember our unit isn't complete.

"How's Coy?" My voice is timid with fear of what the answer will be. The warriors all look to Huck before saying a word, and my chest tightens as I wait for someone to speak, the bubbles of delirium all popping into nothing. I look to Huck now too, waiting for a reply. His only answer is a grunt in my direction, never even lifting his eyes to mine as he removes his leathers on the bench.

"He's . . . unconscious at the moment. Took a bad hit during battle. He was defending the infirmary and instead ended up in it." This is the first time I think I've ever heard Terran sound unhappy and it crushes me to hear it.

"Is he going to be okay?"

"They don't know," Bear explains. "They say his vitals are low but stable. Whatever that means." My heart deflates behind my ribs at the thought of him on a cot unconscious and alone.

“Terran, you look spent.” Terran’s eyes appear bloodshot, and his body sags with fatigue. I’m sure he’s overused his power today in the infirmary, healing small wounds and the like.

“Yeah, working all day in the infirmary will do that to ya.” Good hearted as ever, Terran gives a small smile before sitting down on a nearby stool.

"Someone will be there overnight? To keep an eye on the injured?" This question is as much for Coy as it is for my plan to send my cider over to help them, to help my friend.

"Yeah, the healers will take shifts throughout the night, but there's only so much we can do at the camp." It's Archer who answers this time, sitting on one of the sofas near the fireplace. "Word has been sent to the main station for the more seriously injured to be transported."

If Coy doesn't wake on his own soon, he will be transferred to the main station and I might never see him again. My face heats with emotion and I hold back the sudden urge to cry.

"Hey, what's in here?" Aspen asks about the pot full of cider as he puts on a fire.

"Oh, I, uh…kind of made something while you all were working around the camp today." Aspen sniffs at the black pot hanging above the growing flames. The scent of spiced apple fills the room, and I twirl my ring in anticipation, trying desperately to calm my nerves.

"Why does your face say that this is more than just hot cider?" His brow is raised as he looks back at me suspiciously.

"Because it is." With that, I have the entire group's attention and my cheeks heat even further. They all wait for me to continue. "I made a recovery cocktail, if you will, with my magic. For the injured warriors in the infirmary." Everyone draws nearer as I speak, even Huck who has been silent ever since I asked about Coy.

"I wasn't sure what kind of injuries you all were dealing with, but I could guess what most of the injured would need and combined a few different elements for them." As I rattled off what each apple held, the warriors' eyes widened with fascination as I finished. A sense of pride bloomed within my chest.

"Snow, that is incredible," Archer says.

"Finally showing the rest of us your gifts, I see." Terran smiles.

"So that’s why you look like you’ve been hit by a horse!" Bear shouts.

"We can send a batch in tonight, once it's ready. No one even has to know it's anything more than cider," Aspen chimes. As the group discusses the logistics of the cider, Huck climbs into bed, throwing the blanket wide as he sits.

"Wait! I almost forgot," I hurry, wanting to kick myself at the urgency in my voice. "I made something for you." I stumble to recover my words. "For all of you." I gesture towards the high table as Huck turns to me. His eyes look tired and pained.

"Not hungry" is his only reply before rolling onto his side, and turning his back to us. To me. I hate the way he makes me feel cheap like the kiss didn't mean a thing. I fight the feeling that grows within at the rejection coiling, leaching onto my insides, and instead try to focus on the rest of the group.

"Just ignore him," Bear says, walking over to the table. "He's been acting like this ever since Coy's been down. Shouting at everyone, acting like an ass." He begins to cut into the flaky crust of the dessert, the knife slicing through it like it’s butter. His voice has toned down to a whisper.

"He's just scared." I watch as Bear scoops a slice onto a plate and suddenly it all makes sense, and I feel like a self- absorbed fool. Of course, Coy is the reason Huck is acting strange. Coy is his person. His best friend. If Coy is gone, where does that leave Huck?